Weight of the World
by sweethoneyjazzeuphoria
Summary: Post fall of Praxus fanfic. Prowl, Bluestreak and Smokescreen are in shambles after the horrific fall of their beloved home, leaving Jazz, Optimus and the rest of the Autobots to wallow in the repercussions. Featuring my OC's Sevatia, Jyelle and Hunter to not only filling in for the two Praxian officers, but holding their faction together with Jazz's aid.
1. Guilty Sorrows

"Jazz, I'm scared," Prowl whispered hoarsely, clinging to his partner like decals stuck to metal.

"I know you're scared, so am I," Jazz soothed, running his hand along a doorwing and taking in a long vent.

Jazz had never seen his Praxian like this before and to be frank, it was terrifying. He only knew part of Prowl's pain from when Harmonex came screeching to it's knees from within. The spy had both loved and hated his home, with all the good memories, but also the bad that came with them. He couldn't imagine the pure devastation the loss of Praxus was creating across the stars to the scattered souls belonging to the city-state if this was what Prowl looked like. And not just Prowl, but Bluestreak and Smokescreen too. The two remainders and the sole survivor of Praxus in their army.

He had known from his cultural investigation vorns that the culture was tight-knit and based on a connection of trust, but he didn't know just how deep it ran. In any book about Praxus, it was said that the closeness of their culture was simply pride in their city-state and the uniqueness of it that their people reflected, but Jazz had known this was only partially true. Once, he had been able to witness the Evening Prayer families in Praxus gathered together to perform at the end of every orn. No matter if they had argued or just finished a game night, they all sat and prayed for their family, their people and Praxus to make it safely through the night and the next orn. A connection was made between them that looked like sparks reaching out for each other before a bond, even though their sparkchambers remained closed. Wings touching and hands clasped together, they prayed until the blue wisps of energy between them turned white and just like that, they were back to their daily life routines before cycling down for recharge. He was told that there was a city-wide Evening Prayer on each solstice of every vorn, but outsiders were not allowed to witness it and where it was held was kept a well-guarded Praxian secret. That united Evening Prayer was what he discovered kept their people so intertwined and interconnected.

Jazz supposed most families were too scared to stop running from slaughter to perform their ritualistic Evening Prayer. Perhaps that was truly why Praxus fell.

"I don't know what to do," he cried, tears leaking from his optics, despite the monstrous effort being made to hold them back.

"Me neither," Jazz replied, furrowing his brow and running soothing hands over his boyfriend's shoulders.

 _Keep your hands still Jazz. Keep them still for his sake. Don't let them shake. Don't even let them twitch. You must stay strong for him. You cannot break, no matter the carnage you saw. No matter what the mission brings._

Jazz repeated the mantra in his helm over and over and over until it was ingrained in his processor. He couldn't break. Not with Prowl like this. There would be a time and a place for his monsters to catch up to him, but neither were present now. He needed to be Prowl's strength, no matter how much regret, guilt, loss, failure, pain, ran just under the top layers of his protoform.

Prowl was supposed to be the stoic one. He was supposed to be the mostly emotionless golem protecting his army. He was supposed the be the embodiment of calm precision and now he was shattered. Crushed under the weight of the world that was supposed to be his strength to go on.

"It's gone. Praxus is gone. Blue's all that's left. I can't lose him, Jazz," he sobbed, burying his face in Jazz's chest and clenching his jaw to try and muffle the noise, "I-I can't... I can't..."

"You won't lose him, Prowl. Ratchet's got him stable at the med bay. Blue's gonna be okay," Jazz whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Prowl's helm.

This was his fault.

If his last mission had been successful. If he hadn't been made. If the chip of stolen data hadn't been found on his frame. If he hadn't been caught. If he had been faster. If he had been stronger. If he had been better.

If so many 'if's had or hadn't happened, Praxus may have still stood that orn.

The Autobots would have had the Decepticons most recent plans. Plans including the raid on Praxus. He could have stopped this destruction, prevented this loss, but he hadn't been successful. He had been caught. He couldn't save Praxus, just like he couldn't save Prowl from his pain now.

A/N: Hi there! So a little explination for Jazz and Prowl's positions; they have the same sort of duties as they usually have, but their rankings are switched because this is movieverse. Jazz is Second in Command/Head of Special Operations and Prowl is Third in Command/Tactician/Head of Discipline. Also, another reminder that I do have some of my own OC's in this. Please enjoy.


	2. Decisions

_'Cause you don't know what you've got  
Oh you don't know what you've got  
No you don't know what you've got  
It's your battle to be fought  
No you don't know what you've got  
'Til it's gone_

 _-Until It's Gone_

 _~Linkin Park_

Jazz slunk silently into the officer's meeting room, optics flicking to sweep the room from behind his visor. His processor automatically began assessing his surroundings as it always did. Possible entry and exit points, who was in the room and where, the temperature, the barometric pressure, the slight tension running from mech to femme.

"Where's Prowl?" Ironhide questioned.

"Not attending," Jazz replied softly, taking his seat by Prime as Second in Command, but rolling back a bit so he could see everyone in the room.

The younger officers looked to each other with bewilderment, Prowl never didn't attend a meeting. Even some of the older officers exchanged subtle glances lightly glazed with surprise, but Sevatia kept her gaze focused on Jazz. That was when he noticed Smokescreen's usual spot went unoccupied as well. However, while the Praxian psychologist was known to skip meetings on rare occasion due to something sudden coming up, Prowl could very well be on his deathbed and still attend a meeting.

"Then we shall begin," Prime sounded tired, looking physically vorns older than he should have, his optics locking on the table before him.

Sevatia's optics flicked to her mate before resting on Jazz again. Jazz blinked slowly behind his visor in acknowledgement, a sign that he knew she would pick up. Prime wasn't handling the loss of Praxus well either.

Not that anyone would blame him.

The spy pulled a small red crystal out of his hip compartment and toyed with it. This was going to be a long meeting for both of them.

"I guess I'll start," all optics turned on Ratchet, "I would like to put the two Praxians who aren't current residents in my med bay on temporary medical leave for a while."

"I'm not sure we can afford to do that, Ratchet. Our soldiers need Smokescreen now more than ever and you know just as well as I do that the Decepticons will start more raids and pillages soon. We need Prowl to coordinate our defenses so we're not caught off guard," Kup argued reasonably.

The Prime managed to both stiffen and deflate minutely in the same nearly imperceptible movement, choosing not to intervene in the brewing argument. Light clicks of shifting plating signaled an uneasiness added to the tension from many of the other officers. A quick sweep of his optics told the saboteur that the expectations of their Prime to mediate the situation were being denied by the mech himself by the glances thrown between their CMO, senior guard and Prime. Jazz sent a ping to his leader in an attempt to communicate, but his small prod was ignored. Although his neutral expression did not change, the saboteur shifted the red crystal in his fingers a bit to redirect his focus away from his budding concern. It was highly unusual for the Prime to be this rattled after a major loss such as Praxus, however, this was a highly unusual situation.

Even though Jazz was surprised the Decepticons hadn't already tried something akin to that particular genocide, the attack on Praxus was a shock even to him. None of the intelligence gathered by his own department had pointed towards this attack, meaning it was either very meticulously hidden or Megatron had conceived the idea on a whim and decided to put it into action. From what Jazz knew went on behind the enemy lines, he could easily see Megatron justifying the savage mass murder as a power play to bring some to his cause by the assertion of dominance. However, as many did bow to the Decepticon insignia painted in Praxian energon, there were several other indecisive city-states that fled in droves to Autobot protection. In his own way, Megatron had worked both for and against himself, unknowingly leaving Prime shaken for reasons even Jazz couldn't deduce. Granted, most of his processor was focused on worry for Prowl, whom was in recharge for the moment while he attended the meeting.

"And what about the good psychologist needing his own treatment? Or Prowl being so shaken over the fall of his home and the two near death scares we've had from his brother, he can't even draw a straight line, never mind draw up plans," Ratchet's voice raised a bit in his frustration, making Jazz focus on the heating discussion again.

Sevatia made a small movement to catch the medic's attention and her optics flashed when their gazes met, quelling her brother, "I will take over Smokescreen's position until Ratchet deems his mental state stable and fit enough to ease him back into taking patients. I will also take over Prowl's duties if I must in order to keep us current."

Jazz watched the practically visible shift in authority as attention shifted from Prime to Sevatia, seeing as how it was quite clear the former had no intentions to control the situation while the latter had just expressed her own. The saboteur likewise flicked his optics to the dark aqua femme, curious as to how this suggestion would end.

Sevatia had every bit the commanding presence her mate did, and while this fact sometimes put them at odds, more often than not is served to make them closer as a bonded pair. Along with their undying compassion, their potent leadership inspired both awe and healthy fear when combined together in battle and in downtime. There were slight differences in the power they each harboured, Optimus' being a source of strength to all that radiated off him constantly and Sevatia's often being dampened purposefully so she could teach or speak to her comrades with ease. However, if Sevatia decided she was going to utilize that beneficial undertone, she was going to do so to it's full extent, making her own stubborn brother hesitate and rethink things.

"No Sevatia. I don't even know how Prowl does his job without offlining, especially with his glitch. You can't possibly take over both jobs at the same time," Ratchet said, slight worry in his voice, "I'll assign Paradox to help you with Smokescreen's usual duties, but I will not allow you to take over the Third in Command post as well."

Jazz frowned so slightly only the corners of his mouth were tugged downward and to most it was almost as if he hadn't moved at all. Sevatia herself noticed and narrowed her optics marginally at him. His optics swept around again before resting back on her and he picked up on a deeper vent rushing in and out of her billows as she came to the same conclusion he had.

Everyone in that room knew Sevatia would very willingly take over both jobs and work herself until her structure shone through and her frame gave out. And then she would keep going until she offlined without even her mate knowing something was wrong.

"Why don't we just get someone else to fill in for Prowl then?" Blaster suggested.

"Because Prowl has the most brilliant tactical mind I've ever seen. No one we have currently comes even close to him," Kup huffed, sitting back in his chair and slapping the table.

"What 'bout Jyelle?" Chromia asked.

The SIC's optics widened behind his visor and he tensed even as his plating flared minutely at the suggestion. He likewise felt the same sort of vibe he was projecting come off Prime and Sevatia and his fingers paused around his crystal while he searched their reactions. Aside from Sevatia's sharp look at Chromia, neither protested, seeing the sense in the proposal the longer they thought about it. It was one thing for the blue soldier to suggest someone, but it was another to do so with both those someone's creators and her Guardian so high in the chain of command on that base.

Kup apparently had the same train of thought as he glared daggers at her, now making Ironhide shift defensively. Chromia returned his stare calmly, but her optics shone with her challenging defiance. She knew what she was suggesting and had chosen to stand by it.

"She does have a natural affinity for multi-layered analysis, having been trained as a politician and a J.A.G. officer under Alpha Trion. And I know she was being trained by Prowl in her downtime. She is almost hard wired for analytical work and with the usual officers present for tactical planning, I believe she would excel. Plus her training would serve us well in the legal and disciplinary measures Prowl usually handles," Elita-One spoke her observations.

"An' she knows the army well. There ain't a spark on this base with a drop of malice towards her. Her best friends are frontliners, medics, Spec Ops, scouts, an' even gunners. She would be able to help draw up plans with both success an' safety on her mind, puttin' no mech in any more danger than they have to be," Chromia added.

"But does potential and familiarity trump the potential risks of your implications?" Red Alert piped up, "If Jyelle is given the position of Third in Command and Head Tactician, any disciplinary actions, while not suggesting they will be needed, will have to be reverted to someone who ranks beneath her in this temporary reassignment," he glanced at Jazz, "Not to mention the security risks of transferring her here and then back once she is no longer needed to fill in the position. Nor have we fully recovered from Starscream's betrayal and, I do hate saying this, but due to her... close emotional proximity... to Starscream, she is a potential liability."

Jazz tensed further, subtly preparing himself to move as Sevatia bristled, visibly defensive of her sparkling, his own subroutines beginning to stir.

"That was hardly her fault," Sevatia spoke tersely, still trying her best to respect how Red Alert had explained his evaluation.

"But you gotta admit, it's a fair point, Sevatia," Kup jumped in before she could do or say anything she would regret, "Red Alert isn't even touchin' on the family elements and relationships that could create problems. Almost everythin' she does could be compromised with the right circumstances!"

"It's a risk we may have to take," Ironhide argued, "Look, if slag really hits the fans and bad things happen deservein' punishment, that role can fall to you or Elita-One, 'cause the two of you are the next highest rankin' officers that have no familial ties to Jyelle. I think we all know there is a very slim chance of that happening though."

"We can put it in writin' if you want," Chromia backed up her mate.

"Alrigh', alrigh', there's no reason ta clout me over the helm, but that still doesn't account for th' fact that Jyelle's never done tactical b'fore. Even with help we'd all be behind an' strugglin'," Kup pointed out.

"If it would make you feel better, Kup, we could always temporarily reassign Hunter to help. She can at least calculate the percentages of success if not the exact ratios that Prowl can," Sevatia suggested.

Jazz's optics flicked up and his visor flashed as his fingers curled tighter around the shard of crystal in his hand. All movement in his frame stopped, including his vents as he met Sevatia's optics. He knew she was serious just from the tone in her voice, but he had to be sure. Her gaze confirmed his knowledge and told him that helping Jyelle wasn't the only reason to bring Hunter in either. Prowl needed his daughter to be safe.

"They have always worked well together and Hunter does have tactical training along with her Spec. Ops. training. They would make a formidable team if we ensured they shared and split their duties in an efficient manner," Elita mused.

"An' what 'bout Hunter's team? Where will they go an' what happens if we need 'em in th' field?" Kup questioned.

"They will be shifted back into their usual ranks just as they always are when they come in from an assignment. Her team is meant to be assembled on short notice with tweaks in the group. This is nothing that they haven't done before," Sevatia said almost dismissively.

"What do you say, Prime?" Ironhide asked.

Prime sighed, finally flicking his dark blue optics to meet his mate's light sapphire. She placed one of her hands over the back of his, curling her fingers into his palm. Jazz could practically see the conversation they held through their bond and Prime's frame sank slightly, making him look even smaller.

"Call in Jyelle and Hunter's team," he said finally, his optics not once straying from his mate's as his fingers curled gently around hers.

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this took so long! I had most of the chapter written and then life hit me like a truck with college visits and a teacher doing a stupid thing and it was a while before I had the want to do anything really. Thanks for reading this and I hope you enjoy this next chapter where my OC's will start to come into play. Chapters will typically be about this long or slightly under.


	3. Trust and Shell Casings

_Like an army, falling  
One by one by one_

 _-In My Remains_

 _~Linkin Park_

Sunstreaker slipped quietly into the med bay during recharge hours, careful not to trip any of the silent alarms that would wake the medics. He threw a little wave at Paradox, who was the medic on call, and pointed to the little ICU room in the corner. She nodded and went back to her work while he slipped in to sit beside the gray and crimson mech on the berth.

Bluestreak had been his friend for a long time. While the small Praxian had always been older than him, it wasn't hard for Sunstreaker to think of him as being younger. He, Sideswipe and Bluestreak had been nearly inseparable as younglings, despite the near millennia gap between them. The three of them had been spark-broken when the twins carrier decided to move them to a neutral colony on a planet called Valisse, but when the war got worse, the twins returned to their home to fight. Sunstreaker and his brother had always been scrappy, having been sparked in the outskirts of Kaon and often getting in trouble on Valisse, however, the managed to work their status up until news of them reached high in the chain of command. As soon as Prowl realized who they were, he had contacted his brother and managed to reunite the three friends. After a flurry of hugs, playful punches, and torrents of words from the more talkative pair, they were settled back in their bond of friendship. Sunstreaker was the strong, steady guardian, Sideswipe made his colourful personality flare until everyone smiled, and Bluestreak was the glue that kept everyone sane and together. Everything was okay again.

Until the attack happened.

His best friend was now a mangled mech who was hooked up to nearly every machine ever created for medical purposes. An energon drip slowly added the lifeblood into his system drop by drop, just slightly out of sync with the beeping of the spark monitor. A venting tube ran down his intake to force air into his billows and keep them from collapsing. Another two drips added fluid that was most likely some concoction of pain killers and nanites into his systems even though he was in medical stasis.

And the golden frontliner could still see why.

Delicate doorwings had been demolished, the expressive sensor panels shredded to almost nothing on his back. Deep dents bent his chassis out of it's usually streamlined shape, some even bearing evidence of being produced by fists. Claw marks tore through his arms and legs, usually ending at a hole in the little Praxian's armour where metal was stripped away. Cuts from lasers and knives still showed evidence of energon weeping from pinholes in lines that reopened with any movement. Some of his fingers and most of his hip and knee joints had to be completely replaced along with one of the hinges to his jaw. On top of all the extensive injuries requiring surgery, evidence of shrapnel still riddled his frame with holes and would surely pocket him with scars.

He never should have believed that simply because he had his best friend back meant that the war would just go away. He shouldn't have been so stupid. So like a sparkling. It was abhorrent for him as a frontliner to think like that because thinking like that in the field was exactly what would get one killed. There was no thinking out there, just reacting and reacting violently. One's life was hanging on their ability to use that violence and the buddy beside them doing the same thing, like his brother. That was why he trusted his twin more than anyone; they had to trust each other. But now that he had the time to think, Sunstreaker was beginning to realize he was putting his life in someone else's hands too. He relied on snipers to take out the enemies he couldn't see or reach. Snipers like Bluestreak.

Sunstreaker sighed shakily, reaching out to take the mech's hand within his own surprisingly gentle fingers, murmuring, "I'm sorry Blue. This never should have happened to you."

No response came from the torn up Bluestreak. No doorwing twitches, no rapidfire spiel on how he was. No open bright blue optics darting around to add to the data from his doorwings, no restlessly tapping pede. He was completely, utterly still. Something Sunstreaker did not realize would be so damn terrifying until this moment.

Guilt wormed it's way into his spark, filling him with it's noxious, self-depreciative slime. He should have been there. He should have been there to protect his best friend, this precious little Praxian. Everything seemed to be some poor 'bot's fault and his guilt was choosing Bluestreak's state to be his.

Before his newfound guilt could swallow him, the door to the ICU opened and Sunstreaker turned, taking his hand away from Bluestreak's. His optics fell on an electric blue femme whom he recognized from his youngling-hood and he balked minutely in surprise.

"Jyelle," he stood slowly, "When did you get here?"

All the Autobots under Optimus Prime's command had been informed about the femmes filling in for Prowl, however, he did not think they would arrive so soon.

"Just now," Jyelle whispered, her gaze locked on Bluestreak.

Sunstreaker released himself from his defensive stance and took the few steps necessary to stand beside her. His arms snaked around her shoulders and he reeled the shorter femme in for a hug.

"I knew he was bad, I just didn't expect... Even when he escaped... Oh Primus," she whispered, willingly leaning against the warm golden mech, even though she refused to look away from Bluestreak.

"Do you know what happened? Sides and I were out on patrol, we didn't get the full story," he said, his gaze questioning as he held his friend.

She nodded, "I was given the report to read over. He was brought to the med bay in one of our smaller bases on the Praxus border in critical condition. They managed to stabilize him enough that he woke up and he immediately started asking for Songbird. When he couldn't find her, he escaped and searched the wreckage for her. Prowl went out after Blue himself and found him barely online lying next to Songbird's gray frame. He nearly died twice in the length of a cycle and now he's just lying here between us and the Well."

Sunstreaker curled his arms just a bit tighter around Jyelle as she buried her face against his chest plates. She didn't cry, but it was clear she needed someone to hold her for a bit in light of everything that was happening.

There were very few Sunstreaker trusted and even fewer he allowed so close to him. The frontliner's reputation had preceded him wherever he went, making even the most hardened soldiers wary of his legendary temper. It wasn't exactly as though he tried to reverse the stereotype he had been placed in by his comrades as much as added to it when he felt the need for space. A bubble had been created around him that few dared enter for fear of his powerful anger being turned on them, leaving him with a very small group of friends. He always had his brother, being split spark twins they were stuck together, however, others often did not take the time nor had the guts to try. Although he would never admit it, there were times when he got lonely.

Jyelle was different. As antisocial as he made himself out to be, Jyelle had always been there, patient and accepting. She was a powerful force to be reckoned with, similar to her sire, and could calm him quickly if he was enraged, but she was also gentle using that gift she had been sparked with. It made him feel safe around her, he knew could open up to her and not be criticized or hurt as he had been with others. She was one of the few on a very short list he knew he could trust and never have that trust broken.

A list that would dwindle down to Jyelle and his brother if Bluestreak didn't make it.

No. He couldn't think that way. Not when his friends needed him to be strong. There wouldn't be any promises, because there was the possibility that he would not be able to keep them, but he had to be strong. For her. For Bluestreak.

"He's in the best care he could possibly get. If Ratchet cares enough to piece my doofus brother back together when he does something stupid, he'll do everything he can to get Blue back on his pedes too," Sunny said carefully.

That elicited a small giggle from the femme he held, making him smile softly.

"Thank you, Sunny. I've got to go see my sire now, but I'd love to catch up with you later. Maybe over energon?" Jyelle's voice was a bit raw as she stood up straight, however the rest of her stress disappeared with nearly a millennia and a half of political training.

"Yes Ma'am. I would be honoured," he dipped his helm gracefully.

"You should get some recharge soon," she took his hand and squeezed lightly.

He nodded slowly, unsure exactly _when_ that would occur, but still acknowledging what was clearly a gentle order. She knew him too well.

Jyelle shot him one last smile and slid her hand away from his to slip out the door, leaving him alone again with Bluestreak. The golden frontliner's periwinkle gaze flicked back to the small Praxian and he took a seat next to the berth again. Leaning back comfortably in the chair he sighed, preparing himself for a long vigil.

A/N: Wow it's been a while. I apologize. Senior year has been so busy with school work and after school things and a billion and one things that need to get done. I haven't really had the time to write this and another story I've been working on that's not on here, but hey, better late than never, right? So now you get to meet the mysterious Jyelle and see the new angle of Sunstreaker to add a point of view from someone who isn't an officer. I will try to get the next chapter up soon, but it may take a bit to write because feels and that's all I'mm gonna give away. Anyways, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, please review, and dont be afraid to ask questions or leave song suggestions!


	4. Glyphs and Twitches

_Mother, I know  
That you're tired of being alone  
Dad, I know you're trying  
To fight when you feel like flying_

 _-Unsteady_

 _~X Ambassadors_

Jyelle took a deep vent, standing in front a door that loomed over her like the one who occupied the office within. The ancient glyphs with the modern translation below etched in the hard metal were familiar, comforting almost, and she was tempted to trace them with her digit tips. She refrained, however, and simply looked at them, reading over and over so they would be burned in her memory too. Her optics studied the clipped blocks of the modern text and the curved ancient scrawl with something akin to wary reverence. Every few moments, her digits or her whole servo would twitch as if to make a move that was aborted a sparkbeat later. She wanted to move, truly, but her chaotic thoughts stopped her, or that is what she told herself. It was fear that held her captive in its claws, paralyzed her entire body and left her screaming and guilty within.

"Jyelle?" came a soft, familiar young mech's voice.

"Bumblebee!" she started slightly, turning away from the door with a well concealed vent of relief, "What are you doing up this late?"

"Sevatia's orders. Preping for a mission," he replied with a small smile.

"Scouting?" Jyelle asked, shifting to hide her discomfort from before.

His light blue optics flicked over her electric blue plating, showing concern among other things, "Sorta. Gonna pick up Hunter's team, but I've gotta find them first. You okay?"

"Fine, why?" she replied with a subtly forced smile.

"Well, you're indecisively standing here outside... your sire's door? Jy, what's wrong?" he stepped towards her, placing a servo on her shoulder.

Jyelle ducked her helm, an overwhelming sense of guilt washing over her. If there was one 'bot that knew her better than even herself, it was had played together since they were sparklings, introduced and encouraged by their proud sires, they had become fast, inseparable best friends. When the war had started, his sire was killed guarding one of the Primes going to a Council meeting. His carrier, nearly sick with grief, drank himself into an early offline, forcing Bumblebee and his younger sister Firefly into an orphanage. The two siblings were separated against their wishes and not long later, Firefly disappeared during an unexpected Decepticon raid in her district of Iacon. Worried, scared and oh so alone, Bumblebee had run away from the caretakers in the orphanage, only to show up on the doorstep to Jyelle's house clicks after they had been notified of his disappearance. He had stayed in Jyelle's room that night, crying himself to recharge in her embrace as a grim Optimus and concerned Sevatia discussed the situation down stairs. They decided to foster him and he attended the political academy with Jyelle as they got older, dropping out to join the Autobot academy later while she took extra military classes on the side of her training with Alpha Trion. Having grown up together like that, they were closer at times than even Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, but oddly enough, Jyelle had never come to see Bumblebee as a brother. He was her best friend, that was for certain, but since the incident with Starscream he had become more than just her confidant and support. She had always valued his friendship, but their relationship now was something beyond what they had growing up. It was strange and new and exciting, but she was wary of acting on it, afraid of losing both him and what they had between them. As it was, the yellow servo on her shoulder caused tingles down her spinal struts and her core temperature rose by a degree or two.

"I'm scared, Bee," she whispered sadly, finding herself collapsing against him and into his embrace, "I want to see him, but Carrier warned me that he wasn't alright, that he was shaken to the core and I don't know how to deal with that. He's always been strong, even through the worst of it. He's always been there for me, always been the hero I have seen him as since I was a sparkling, I don't know what he will be like now. I don't know how to handle this. This whole situation is all fragged up."

Bee crooned softly in her audio as her normal rigid composure broke down and she sobbed quietly into his shoulder, waiting until she calmed a bit before speaking, "It's alright Jy. None of us know how to deal with this, what the 'Cons did… none of us saw that coming. And now with Prowl, Blue, and Smokey on medical leave, well… morale's low and the effects have been rippling through everyone. Even command is rattled. No one's really been able to get through to Optimus except for Sevatia, but maybe you can. It's okay that you're scared, you have every right to be, but you have to go in there, not for us but for him. He needs you, Jy. He needs you to be alive and in his arms."

A soft keen left her lips and her vents hiccuped a few times before she managed to rasp, "Are you sure?"

"Positive. Jy, you're stronger than you know. If anyone can do this, it's you, even if it's only because we are behind you. You're not alone," he murmured against her helm, arms tightening around her.

"When did you get so wise?" she asked with a half-sparked huff.

"I grew up. I had to considering you weren't there to give the twins a kick in the aft," he smiled softly.

She giggled, finally lifting her helm off his shoulder and gave him a grateful smile. He stretched a bit to press a fond kiss to her crest then swiped away her tears of coolant with his thumbs. Light blue optics flicked to the door before meeting light sapphire again and she nodded, reading the glyphs on the door one last time before hitting the button to request access.

 ** _Optimus Prime_**

The door opened before the two young warriors, revealing Prime sitting heavily behind his desk and Sevatia beside him, a servo on his shoulder. The dark aqua femme glanced over at them, flashing a small smile and an apologetic, tired look. She turned back to her bondmate, sweeping back one of his antennae and pressing a kiss to his cheek. With all the grace of a lilleth in flight, Sevatia made her way across the room to embrace her daughter, love and relief flowing over their creator-creation bond now that they were reunited. Jyelle took comfort in the close proximity of her Carrier's spark and gave a deep, silent sigh of gratitude to signal her appreciation and contentedness. No words had to be said between them, there was a simple, yet strong understanding that surpassed even their need for a bond to know what the other was feeling.

Sevatia slowly released Jyelle after a breem or two, a promise of sharing a cube at some point coming across in her optics and sealed with a kiss to the top of the younger femme's helm. A discrete signal to Bumblebee had the two walking out the door, leaving Jyelle with her sire, sitting unmoved at his desk. The young politician stepped carefully towards the hulking frame, delicately reaching out slender fingers to rest on his arm lighter than soot on a weld, as if he would shatter into a billion pieces at any moment. The great helm jerked back in belated surprise, clouded dark blue optics flicking to the slight hand, travelling up her arm to her shoulder then finally landing on her face where recognition made a dilatory appearance.

"Jyelle?"

"Hi Daddy," she offered a small, sad smile.

"You are here," he replied, mystified.

"On your request. I am to help fill in for Prowl," she nodded.

"Oh. Yes. Yes you are," he said as if realizing why for the first time then paused for a while before speaking again, "Do you believe you can?"

"I-I don't know," she confessed ducking her helm, but looking up again with confidence, "But I have to. For the Autobots. They stand behind me, so I have to stand behind them. Right?"

"Yes. You will do well," he rumbled.

"What of you? How have you been since… since Praxus?" she asked.

"You know, nobot has asked me that yet? Everybot has seen me like this, but nobot has asked how I am doing?" he gave her a raw, bitter smile, optics sharpening their gaze.

Jyelle's brow ridges furrowed in confusion. How could nobot have asked him how he was doing? He was their leader, yes he was supposed to take care of them and support them, but he was still just a mech. He needed comfort and reassurance sometimes too. Her sire may have always been a hero in her mind, but she had always known how vulnerable he was, that he was just like everyone else. It was not that she was taught that way, nor forced to see it because of the war, it was just who she was. It was her 'quirk' as her carrier liked to call it; she saw the truth in everything whether she was trying to or not. And that is when the truth of the situation hit her and she suddenly understood.

"They are afraid," she murmured.

"Yes. Afraid of what I will tell them, or more accurately, that I will tell them the truth. That I will describe to them just how deeply Praxus has troubled me, disabled me, instilled fear within me. I do not know how to move forward with this, nor how to comfort them, especially when I am not alright myself," he agreed solemnly, a certain fire in his dark blue orbs.

"That is why I am here, Sire, so I can run your army while you catch your footing once more," she said, a little more confidently.

"You will do well," he nodded slightly, the light in his optics dulled once more.

"I should get started," she said determinedly, "Prowl has been out long enough for there to be a backlog. I love you Daddy."

"I love you too, Jyelle. Good luck," he replied listlessly.

"I will not fail you, Daddy," she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before making her way to the exit.

"You never have, Beauty," he murmured.

Jyelle paused just outside his door for a click, turning to glance at him over her shoulder just before the door closed. Her slender fingers clenched into a fist at her side. She would make good on her promise and not fail, for her sire's sake and the sake of the Autobot army. She was their pillar of support now. She nodded slightly to herself and strode in the direction of the tactical division and Prowl's office.

A/N: I LIVE! I'm not dead I promise! Sorry it's been so long, I haven't had the time to write much and between other projects and writer's block, this was put way on the back burner. Now I'm graduating and I have more time for a bit, but we'll see how long that lasts between my job and my new horse. Thank all of you for sticking with this story and with me it is greatly appreciated. I don't own anything but my OC's and the story line.


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